Chapter 3 - THE EAST WING
By three o'clock that afternoon, a pair of sleek black town cars had cleared out Sarah’s meager belongings from her Englewood apartment.
Lily sat in the center of the vast, high-ceilinged bedroom in the east wing of the Moretti estate, her tiny legs crossed on a plush cream-colored Persian rug. She was clutching her favorite faded plush rabbit, her dark blue eyes wide with wonder as she looked around at the towering windows, the private fireplace, and the adjoining playroom stocked with brand-new wooden toys and art supplies.
"Mommy," Lily whispered, her small voice echoing softly off the crown molding. "Is this a castle?"
Sarah knelt beside her daughter, smoothing back Lily’s fine brown hair and forcing a reassuring smile, though her nerves were frayed to a thread. "It's... a temporary house, sweetie. We're going to stay here for a little while to help a little baby named Leo."
"Is the dark man the king?" Lily asked innocently.
Sarah hesitated, remembering the cold, lethal authority in Julian’s eyes. "No, baby. He's just... the man who owns the house. We have to be very good guests, okay?"
A knock sounded at the open double doors.
A middle-aged woman wearing a sharp navy housekeeper's uniform stepped into the room. Her iron-grey hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her posture was rigid, but her pale blue eyes held a warmth that instantly relieved some of Sarah's tension.
"Ms. Bennett," the woman said with a polite curtsy. "I am Mrs. Gable, the head of household staff. Mr. Moretti has instructed me to ensure you and little Lily have everything you require. The nursery is directly connected through the adjoining door."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Sarah said, standing up. "How is Leo right now?"
Mrs. Gable sighed softly, a look of profound sympathy crossing her face. "He woke from his nap twenty minutes ago, dear. The temp nurse is trying to feed him, but... well, you can probably hear him."
Sarah listened closely. Through the heavy soundproofed doors, a faint, high-pitched crying was beginning to build in volume.
"I'll go in now," Sarah said, kissing Lily’s forehead before heading toward the connecting nursery door.
The nursery was a grand, sunlit room decorated in soft shades of cream, warm timber, and slate blue. Standing near a plush velvet rocking chair was a woman in crisp white nursing scrubs, holding Leo at arm's length while trying to force a silicone bottle teated with formula into his mouth.
Leo was squirming violently, his small chest heaving as he shrieked, refusing the nipple.
"He won't latch!" the nurse said exasperatedly, her face flushed with frustration as Sarah entered. "I've tried three different formula brands! His temperature is elevated, and he's entirely uncooperative!"
"Stop forcing it," Sarah said firmly, stepping quickly into the room. "You're pouring fluid into his throat while he's screaming—he's swallowing air and choking."
Sarah took the infant gently into her arms, immediately placing his cheek against her warm neck. She reached for the bottle on the changing table, unscrewed the top, and checked the temperature against her inner wrist.
"The formula is too cold," Sarah noted instantly. "Infants with colic are sensitive to temperature shifts. Warm it to body temperature, and switch the bottle nipple to a slow-flow size one."
The nurse blinked, clearly offended by the correction. "I have fifteen years of pediatric experience in private homes—"
"And I have a baby who is currently calm," Sarah interrupted softly, nodding toward Leo, who had already settled against her skin, his small, warm hand clutching the collar of her shirt. "Please bring me a bowl of warm water to temper the bottle."
The nurse huffed, grabbed the bottle, and hurried out toward the small kitchen kitchenette attached to the suite.
Sarah sat down in the heavy velvet glider, rocking Leo gently back and forth. She unbuttoned his tight blue jumpsuit, exposing his small stomach. It was tight and distended, hard to the touch—classic signs of trapped gas and extreme digestive distress.
She began to gently massage his stomach in smooth, clockwise circles, using the tips of her fingers to apply rhythmic, light pressure. Within moments, Leo released another long string of tiny gas bubbles, his small face visibly relaxing as the internal pressure eased.
"You poor little guy," Sarah whispered softly, tracing her finger over his soft brown fuzz of hair. "Nobody was listening to you, were they?"
Unbeknownst to Sarah, Julian was standing in the shadows of the doorway, his broad frame silent against the doorframe.
He watched her through the dim lighting of the nursery. He saw how her hands moved with an effortless, natural grace—not with the sterile, mechanical efficiency of the expensive nurses he had hired, but with genuine maternal warmth.
For three months, this house had been a tomb of grief and screaming chaos. Since his wife, Sofia, had died on the operating table, Julian had been consumed by a suffocating mixture of rage, guilt, and helplessness. He was a man who could command armies of soldiers, silence rival mafia families with a single phone call, and control millions of dollars in black-market trade, yet he had been completely broken by a six-pound child.
As he watched Sarah soothe his son, something cold and frozen deep inside Julian's chest began to thaw.
Sarah turned her head slightly, catching sight of his silhouette in the doorway. She didn't jump or gasp. She simply kept her hand resting gently on Leo's belly.
"He needs a different formula," Sarah said quietly to Julian. "The whey protein in the hospital-grade blend is too heavy for his stomach. I need goat-milk-based formula and organic chamomile water for his baths."
Julian stepped into the light of the nursery, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "Consider it done. Whatever you need, order it through Mrs. Gable. Money is not an issue."
"It's not about money," Sarah said softly, looking up to meet his dark, intense gaze. "It's about paying attention."
Julian remained silent for a long moment, the quiet space between them charged with an unspoken tension.
"Tomorrow morning at nine," Julian said, his voice deep and commandingly smooth. "Marcus Vance will arrive here to prepare your testimony for the custody hearing. Be ready."
"Thank you, Mr. Moretti," Sarah said, her voice genuine. "For helping me with Lily."
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Julian glanced over toward the open door leading to Sarah's room, where Lily was currently humming a children's song while drawing on a large pad of paper.
"I don't help people, Ms. Bennett," Julian said coldly, turning toward the hallway. "I make investments. Make sure my son continues to sleep through the night."
